Marked by Death
by SlimDeedee
Summary: Death's touch was an accident. He had just wanted to see his master. He was bending over the crib, the baby wiggled and Death noted that his diaper was coming loose. Unthinkingly, he pressed one cold finger against the strip, pasting it back together, and Hadrian James Potter's entire destiny became undone. slash.
1. A Gaze Across the Crowd

**Hi guys, I decided to rewrite this story (we were only on chapter for so thankfully it was doable), because I just didn't like the pacing it had. I felt like I was forcing myself to go through canon and that's not the point of fanfiction at all. I thought that if it was boring for me to write, it should definitely be boring to read so I scrapped it all and only rescued the things I really liked. **

**The first half of this chapter you've seen before and everything else is new. I'll be slowly mingling bits and pieces of things that you might have read with new stuff. Only for the first few chapters though.**

**Right off the bat, know that the biggest change is that the present timeline of the story is Charlie's 4th Year at Hogwarts, not his 1st. **

* * *

_Charlie, Ron and Hermione dashed through the halls of a millennia old castle. In the darkness of the forbidden wing, against the stone floor, their footsteps were thunderous and their panting would've given them away to anyone close by –not that they cared. In the name of bloody Merlin... The 3 first years' minds were filled with running as far away from the three-headed monstrosity as possible. If anything, running into a teacher as they tumbled through the barely lit hallways would've been a relief._

_Charlie tried to take the next corner wide, but as he did, he saw the entire floor decked in soapy water, all three of the children were going too fast to stop. Charlie felt it immediately as he slipped, felt Hermione's hand grab unto his robes and Ron crash into her as they went tumbling down. He saw them flying through the air, he braced himself for impact right as he recognized the floaty feeling in his belly from being levitated. In a moment, he was back on his feet staring at the unmistakable visage of Hadrian Potter._

_His lungs expelled all breathe at once._

_This was his first time seeing his brother from so close._

_Hadrian was sitting on a clearly conjured arm chair. Aroun him dozens of sponges and mops danced to an imperceptible melody, walls and floors being scrubbed all along the hallway in a clear display of magic. Charlie looked around at the desolate hallway, and pondered at the fact his brother was apparently cleaning. Detention; despite being in the castle for less than 2 months, Charlie knew his brother was no stranger to those. Hadrian's posture was languid, and Charlie immediately remember the tiger in his children's book, the picture of the white and black beast. How surprised he'd been when magic brought an illusion of it alive right there in his bedroom. He'd been awed and terrified when he'd seen it, pretty much the same of how he felt right then. Hadrian Potter also felt larger than life. His brother's green eyes – their mother's eyes – pinned him down with the universal law of a predator before a prey._

_His brother had a thick tome on his lap and a cup of tea in his side-table. It looked ridiculous, but at the same time fit everything that Charlie had ever heard about him. A marauder with a cunning streak a mile wide and no respect for the rules whatsoever. He decided to tell Uncle Sirius about this first encounter, his father's friend would be so proud. All three kids were speechless for different reasons, gawking at the fourth-year Potter._

_Hadrian had been a continuously debated topic amongst the three friends._

_Hermione was the first to recover._

_"No magic is allowed during detentions!" She spouted. For the first time when it came to rules, Charlie felt her unsure. Whether that was because of her awareness of her hypocrisy or because of facing Hadrian Potter he did not know._

_Either way, Charlie wanted to die of embarrassment._

_His brother's visage contorted and then, he was laughing. He threw his head back showing a tanned neck, somehow looking dangerous in a very vulnerable move. His exposed jugular almost seemed to challenge them, I dare you. Charlie saw Hermione flush. Ron seemed to be fighting between being star-struck and disgusted by all things Slytherin. The laughter subsided after a few seconds._

_"I know."_

* * *

Charlie sits in the first aid tent, where a Mediwizard is fuzzing above him, an awe look on his face. It has nothing to do with Charlie having bypassed the dragon, he knows. That awe is a hollow kind of awe, an meaningless one, worth very little to the boy who does not remember defeating the Dark Lord. Not - he bitterly thinks - that the man is truly defeated.

He winces when the pressure of the burn intensifies and waves away the copious apologies, the man's just doing his job and Charlie has had a lot worse than this. He thinks he should be more please at his performance, but... he knows all this game is rigged. What is one more death defying stunt to him, really? When the closeness of the end of it all is but a matter of when? A decision between painful and peaceful and not a thing that can be stopped or control at all?

_Death comes to us all, little brother, even the Dark Lord. Some men just like thinking the contrary. Don't ever be mistaken. Men do not want to _live _forever, they just don't want to be forgotten. _

Before long the man is finally done and as soon as he clears, thin arms are coming around him and Charlie realizes that he missed his mother coming into the room. His father, Hermione and a downcast Ron follow behind, eliciting some surprise. Her arms are strong as they hold his head to her bosom, all the while running a hand through his head and whispering.

"Oh my boy, we were so worried." She backs away to look him in the eyes, face less than a foot away from him and hands holding his face. "You did brilliantly!" Charlie immediately brightens. He doesn't remember being nervous when he went to face the dragon, he'd felt numb, but now, safe in his mother's arms he realizes just how terrified he'd been. He feels tears prickling at his eyes, but he refuses to cry, burying his face in his mother's embrace.

_You've had things that your brother can't even imagine. _

His hug tightens, but then he needs to let her go because his father's there, all relieved smiles and patting him in the back with the weight of pride and expectation.

"That was incredible, Charlie. I'm glad you got one of these things out of the way already!" His father tells him, and his tone is light-hearted but Charlie hasn't forgotten the thunder in his expression when Dumbledore proclaimed that Charlie needed to compete or possibly face dire consequences. (He'd privately thought that competing was already a dire consequence.) He knows his parents are not happy he just duped a dragon, no matter how well Charlie performed.

He knows they must be worried sick, otherwise he doesn't see them coming to such a public Hogwarts event, risking running into _him. _Charlie has never seen Hadrian and his parents in the same place, unless knowing that he's out there somwhere in the caste right now counts.

Before, many years ago, when Charlie had just arrived at Hogwarts, he'd had this dream where, he and Hadrian would become really close and his brother would come home with him. Those were the dreams of a child though, and now he knows better.

Whatever broke his family apart, Charlie has learned he cannot fix.

_He's a monster, Charlie, and he is no child of mine. _

After all, there's not a lot you can do to fix murder.

Hermione, as always, is bursting with energy, mouth running a mile a minute the moment she can get closed enough to throw an arm around him. After so many years, it's one of the things he's become fondest of when it comes to her. Though he knows it's one of the things that can make her easily dislikable to other people. Hermione is headstrong and stubborn and at times conceited, but Charlie knows her heart is unwaveringly in the right place, always has been. Against a quality like that Hermione can do a lot worse than just being chatty.

Ron is quick to interrupt the beginning of her analysis of the other competitors.

"I'm sorry, Charlie... I... Shouldn't have doubted you." Ron is about to go on, perhaps to explain his line of thought or just keep making excuses for himself, who knows. Charlie just doesn't have the energy to bother really. He loves Ron, they've grown up together and he knows what his friend is like. He's just eager to put this all fiasco behind him and keep trying to survive one more year.

"It's okay."

"But, I..."

"It's fine, Ron, really." Sadly, jealousy is something Charlie has had to deal with his entire life, and his friendship to the redhead, as real as it is, has always been a little strained. The whole "I'm rich and famous" always echoing a little in the background, the people around him too young to understand the dangers surrounding that idea and just how highly his supposed famed has cost him.

It's not a battle worth having.

"I'm glad, mate, I'll be right there with you for all the other events! I promise." Charlie smiles, and he does feel relieved that he has his friend back. Though he grows a little embarrassed when his mother starts cooing over them and Hermione joins in on the thesis.

Surprisingly, as he exits the tent, he's in a significantly better mood when he catches emerald eyes across the crowds, Hermione's hand clutches his arm. She sees him, too. There are hundreds of people around them, the vast majority of them wearing the exact same black robes but Charlie's eyes are immediately drawn to his brother. He sees the eyes examine him, and Charlie realizes Harry must have been worried. As soon as the tent ruffles, Charlie turns around to see his parents coming after him. When he looks back his brother is long gone.

Hermione's gaze is questioning, but Charlie shakes his head minutely. He's thankful Ron is quick to drag them into conversation as they all slowly walk back to the teacher's stands, avoiding the stares of the students trying to catch a glimpse of the Head Auror, who is a novelty compared to their resident Boy-Who-Live. He looks back once, but catches no sight of green eyes again.

* * *

**I hope this was enjoyable. I should be updating weekly, but honestly this story is all about Pelirroja's interest and my own fancy, a lot of the final scenes are written which is why I sat down to write it out at all.**

**If you're a One Piece fan, I do have one finished fic for that called 'Who We Were Meant to Be' which is written out completely and posted on daily. It'd make me really happy if you'd like to check it out. **

**Much love and be safe during Quarantine.**

**xo,**

**Dana. **


	2. The Dark Lord's Study

**If you were following this story before, know that it was taken down and is being reposted so you might want to re-read the first chapter cause there's a whole thing added and a bunch removed! It's just, what I wrote before wasn't going anywhere so we're skipping a bunch of boring parts and getting to what I wanted to write in the first place. **

**Look guys, I creeped _myself _out with this chapter, it came out of nowhere. TRIGGER WARNING for violence, sexual nuances, torture, vague voyeurism, mentions of murder, mentions of inappropriate sexual relations involving a minor and probably other fucked up shit. I've never had to do trigger warnings before so please take my inexperience into account before jumping in to this story.**

**Like, enjoy, I guess?**

* * *

_Milfa is with Harry in the darkness. Lighting a candle as her charge struggles with the loopy letters, it's his third parchment and he's chubby hands are being extra careful, but he's worried he might ruin it again. He really wants to send his brother a letter, Harry has never received a letter before today. Nut now that he's 7, his little brother has sent him one – though considering Charlie should be 4, Harry thinks someone else wrote it for him. Milfa offered to write it for him too, but Harry's 7, he needs to be a big boy or his other caretakers will keep getting angry with him. So he's trying to copy down Milfa's handwriting, because Harry doesn't actually know how to read or write._

_His other caretakers don't like Milfa at all, but Harry couldn't bare it if she left. Who would take care of Harry then? It's always been just the two of them, and Harry would be lonely without her. The young boy is so distracted in his worry that the ink splotches again, tears of frustration gather on his eyes. A tiny hand lands on the crown of his head, bony fingers brushing soothingly through unruly locks. _

_"__Don't you worry, Master Harry." Says the kind voice. "You'll get it in a jiffy. I'll go fetch you some more parchment." And with a soft pop, the elf is gone._

* * *

"If you mistreat that house elf one more time we're going to have a problem, Malfoy." Killing-curse green eyes, Lucius notes, bore holes into him. Lucius ignores the stare with practiced ease. The pair stand deep in the guts of the Dark Lord's stronghold, and Lucius knows better than to rise to the child's bait. Hadrian Potter is an absolute devil, and he takes keen pleasure in dragging down loyal servants of the Dark Lord into the dirt. Lucius isn't even going to ask why the teenager isn't at Hogwarts.

Next to them, carrying a series of tomes that pile past his head, Lucius' house elf struggles under the weight, shuffling again. Lucius holds himself from kicking it again. He's not afraid of Hadrian, but in the art of war, picking your battles is a necessity.

"These… _creatures_ only live to serve." He says neutrally.

"Kind of like you then, yes?"

The smile that greets him is that of the cat who ate the canary, eyes glowing and for a moment chilling laughter rings in his ears. Lucius' eyes widen a fraction; his hand touches his wand –concealed in his cane– before a dark chuckle travels from beyond the darkness of the room.

"Harry." The Dark Lord chides in monotone, eyes dancing in mirth, but mouth set in a thin line. "Don't antagonize my guests."

"As you wish, _My Lord." _There's something in the inflection Hadrian uses, since the first time that Lucius ever heard the title cross his lips, that is inherently infuriating. Maybe because Lucius knows he doesn't mean it, maybe because the little demon manages to infuse the name with mocking, maybe it's because he makes it sound too casual, more amusement and pet name than title. Now that Lucius thinks about it, it's probably all three.

Lucius watches the dance, keeping an eye on his Master's mood, he's not here to deliver good news after all. Though Hadrian's presence might work as a buffer somewhat… Lucius can hope so.

"Hadrian," the Dark Lord begins settling down in his arm chair, "Barty Crouch Jr. is dead." Lucius almost sags in relief, so the Dark Lord already knows. He's taken it rather well, Lucius muses, considering Barty is not only dead, but was quiet clearly savagely murdered. Missing both eyes and his heart.

"I know." Hadrian moves from the corner of the study, where he'd been whispering to the books there to sprawl on the couch, his dark red shirt rides up slightly as he stretches and Lucius doesn't miss how the Dark Lord follows the movement, drinking in the pale skin. The boy pops his shoulder joint in two hollow sounds before making himself comfortable, resting his jaw on his palm to keep his head raised. "I ripped his heart out just to be sure." The temperature drops. Lucius has the sudden urge to leave, being caught up between these two is the last thing he wants.

"I don't find it amusing, Harry." The Dark Lord intones, toying with his wand, Lucius didn't even catch him drawing it. The threat of the cruciatus is clear, but Hadrian remains unmoved. Whether it is because the Dark Lord doesn't really use it on him as the rumor goes, or because of being too used to it as some others whisper, Lucius is unsure. He's heard the least intelligent of his comrades say that Hadrian Potter lost the ability to feel pain long ago, trained to share the bed of the most powerful Dark Wizard Britain has ever seen. A dizzying thought that makes Lucius feel immediately dirty, though he knows better than to question his Master and there's no evidence of anything except that feeling in the air.

"I'm just making sure none of your little dogs get any ideas beyond what their little minds can handle. I saw my little brother fight a dragon today, that's _dangerous." _There it is again, the ability to inflict subtlety in a way that Lucius scrambles to interpret. He knows Hadrian holds Charlus Potter in esteem, Draco has confided as much, but Lucius knows there's something _more here. _"Charlus Potter _is mine. _Barty forgot that. I'm just making sure no one's going to forget again." His eyes are alight in death; and it's like watching a beast pace a cage behind his eyes. The bars between them and you, paper thin. "_My Lord." _He adds.

"Barty was undercover at Hogwarts, working for me." The tone doesn't rise into anger, and the youthful face of the Dark Lord –unchanged since he'd acquired the Elixir of Life– is haunting and twisted. It's hard to remember that regardless of appearances, Lord Voldemort is not a child.

"Whatever he was doing, I can do better. It will not endanger your scheming, My Lord."

"That's very conceited of you, arrogant." The Dark Lord's mood is changing and Lucius wonders if he's even truly angry that one of his most loyal followers is dead. His frantic mind wonders if Barty really had been acting independently, out of uncontrollable need to serve, when he'd signed up Charlus Potter as part of the Triwizard Tournament or if he was just a stepping to create this moment between two men who worship the Dark and all her sweet promises. "What makes you think you can fill in for him?"

"You already know that, My Lord." Harry is crossing the short distance, getting on his feet with all the grace of a big cat and the silence of someone who doesn't really exist. The teen leans in, eye level with the dark wizard, and his palm touches upon the Dark Lord's cheek in the mockery of a sweet gesture encumbered by threats from the past. Lucius knows who stole the Philosopher's Stone after all, _this_ message he understands, that Harry has done what'd been deemed impossible before.

"Did you enjoy it?" The Dark Lord asks, unfazed with the proximity.

"I only did what had to be done." Hadrian answers neutrally, eyes giving nothing away. "To keep our _promise._" The Dark Lord narrows his eyes, and Lucius catches the moment the playful mood lowers, soured by the reminder of a promise Lucius has heard of, but has never understood. It'd been a heavily debated topic amongst the Inner Circle.

"Is that what helps you sleep at night, child?" The comment doesn't make Hadrian flinch, but some of the magic in the room shifts. "Either way, this transgression cannot be ignored. Poor Barty suffered quiet a lot as he died from what I hear." A grin stretches in the face of Hadrian as he straddles the Dark Lord. For a moment they're a painting, trapped in a singular moment, and Lucius wonders, what would those unknowing of the depth in this scene think?

What would they see? Two young men, black haired. One with eyes the color of freshly cut grass, another the color of coffee. Tanned against pale. Thin and broad. Opposites and reflections in the same breath. Powerful. Cunning. Dangerous.

Would they be fooled into thinking the cupping of a jaw or the sharing of space betrays some deeper emotion? Would they think these two monsters capable of _feeling? _Lucius thinks that no one could ever make such a grievous mistake. Even if he didn't know better, the hair in his arm raises under his long sleeves, his magic stirs withing him pushing for a survival response –flight.

"Are you going to pluck out _my_ eyes, _Tom_?" Hadrian _purrs, _as if he's offering forbidden fruit and it's all a game. He rolls his shoulder blades and arches his back in a move so sensual it's almost obscene and Lucius thinks they've definitely forgotten him. The Dark Lord raises a single hand to the other's face, and Lucius cannot look into Hadrian's eyes because he's not sure if he can keep himself from vomiting if they look eager. He cannot look away as the Dark Lord's palm takes a hold of Hadrian's face, though he doesn't squeeze, his index finger cocked back as if ready to pierce right through the eyeball.

"I don't know. You seem a little exited at the prospect." The Dark Lord comments amused and nonchalant.

"Think about it, you might finally be able to see inside my head after all." Hadrian sticks out his tongue, and the gesture could be interpreted as playful, but Lucius knows he's taunting the Dark Lord with the rune tattooed into the muscle, forever keeping Hadrian's mind out of reach for even the most skillful legilimens. The Dark Lord's fingers slips into the skin between the eyeball and the waterline, pushing slowly. By reflex Hadrian's eyes starts rolling back but he remains stiff, hands firmly grasping out to the other man's shoulders. Revulsion coils around his esophagus and Lucius really hopes he's not about to witness some kind of passive torture.

Harry's head is pushed towards the ceiling, his unbothered eye only opened a sliver, unable to make eye contact through the haze of what's occurring. His neck is pull taut, tendons jumping out of the skin to escape the pain.

"Maybe it's your tongue I should remove." But even though the Dark Lord says so, his finger is still pushing into the eye socket, far enough that the first finger joint has disappeared and there's a trail of tears down Hadrian's face. The younger man's knuckles are white where he's holding on to the Dark Lord and he's biting his lip, risking cutting right through it, (Lucius has see it happen before) as he lets out a moan of absolute pain. In the end his house elf cannot take the scene and it's the _pop _he makes as he leaves that catches the Dark Lord's attention. Lucius is terrified of interrupting whatever's taking place but also feeling too lightheaded to ignore. "I'll meet with you later, Lucius." He takes the dismissal gladly, original motive of his presence long forgotten.

"As you wish, My Lord." He exits the study and tries to convince himself that Hadrian and the Dark Lord's foreplay didn't involve crippling injuries, but not a minute later as he's walking down the hall the screaming starts. Lucius hurries along, longing for home and Narcissa and praying to every god he knows to never ever understand what happens in that room.

* * *

**Too much?**


	3. By Candlelight

_Hadrian Potter wasn't quiet what Tom Riddle expected. He was tall for a fifteen-year-old, with shaggy black hair. He was pale. Angular features were prominent and defined, a clear sign of good breeding. His posture was relaxed as he made the line at the Ice Cream Parlor, at ease in public. More than one person stopped and stroke up a brief conversation. Apparently, the eldest Potter child was hardly a recluse or a pariah, which had been Tom's previous assumptions._

_He looked around Diagon Ally and couldn't suppress a smirk. Here he was, the most wanted man in Britain, strolling along its most populated commercial hub. Not a single suspicious eye landed on him. This was true power, no glamour necessary. The picture the prophet had publicized of him was unflattering and outdated to say the least. These days he looked so human that it took but nary a spell to allow him to roam free the streets of Magical Britain, with no one the wiser._

_He'd been watching Potter for the last hour as he went about his Hogwarts shopping. Unsurprisingly, the teen had a guardian with him. If Tom's info was correct – and it better be – the tall, aristocratic man was one Sirius Black, Lord of the House of Black and the only Gryffindor in the entire history of the Black family. A miracle or a blasphemy depending on whom you asked._

_Information on Black was easy to come by, especially for the Dark Lord. Information on Hadrian Potter was a little more challenging. Information regarding on why the eldest Potter child was raised by his godfather was almost non-existent. The more he'd dug around Potter, the more interesting he became. Alas, almost was the key word._

_As Black moved to continue shopping, Potter had stopped and signaled the iconic Ice Cream Parlor. After a brief and quick exchange, Black went on with business and Hadrian moved to the line. As Tom watched him pay, he was surprised that the young teen made a beeline towards him; carrying himself with all the grace of a feline. It was undeniable, Hadrian Potter had an air to him, of danger and power that was eye-catching. Voldemort wasn't insipid enough to deny the teen was attractive._

_He had to keep himself from sighing at the thought. As much as absorbing part of his soul had been critical for his continued success, sometimes the inherited hormones of a piece of himself as a 16-year-old were more trouble than they were worth._

_Green eyes bore into him, hiding an entire universe of magic and secrets. His grin was dashing and his tone of voice was easy as he handed him an ice-cream cone, eyeing him up and down. For a tiny second as he grabbed the offered sweet, Tom had to entertain the idea that he was being picked up by Hadrian Potter but as he eyed the ice-cream he realized he was mistaken. Vanilla. He inspected it. Ah, and veritaserum._

_"Why don't we sit down and you let me know why you're following me?" Potter asked good-naturedly, already making his way to the farther booth in the parlor. Tom smirked, amused, and followed him. This reconnaissance was proving to be much more fun than he thought it'd be._

_"So?" Potter says as they sit down, waving a hand that encapsulates them in a silent bubble. Wandless magic. His green eyes are dark and murky; they remind Tom of darkness of the Hogwarts lake seen from the Slytherin dorms. A lot of secrets and dangers were hidden there too. "What can I do for you?"_

_"Well, your letter did say you'd like to negotiate the terms for an agreement." Tom enjoys the exact moment where Hadrian Potter realizes just who is sitting with him in the middle of Diagon Alley. He savors it. It's hard to keep his face into a neutral expression, he doesn't remember the last time he had this much fun. Potter looks around bewildered for a moment but manages to pull himself together quickly enough. He stares at him in complete surprise before bursting out laughing. The sound is boyish and melodious._

_"Of course." He says between chuckles, eyeing the cone Tom is throwing away. "How…?" He shakes his head as if realizing that questioning the Dark Lord is probably useless… and most probably suicide. "It's obvious you read my letter." He sates. The mood in the table changes._

_"A very creative piece of writing." Impossibly, Potter's eyes darken._

_"We both know every word of it is true." He says with a shrug, trying for nonchalant._

_"You're committing treason to everyone you've ever held dear."_

_"I'm 15," the boy stresses "therefore, I've hardly pledge allegiance to anyone." Including you hangs in the air. "Political differences are hardly a rarity, even amongst friends and family."_

_"Do you expect me to believe you contacted me because of political differences?"_

_"No, I never said I agreed with your political agenda." Hadrian's eyes are far away. "But your means and ends do overlap with my own."_

_"Dumbledore."_

_"…Indeed."_

_"If you expect my help, I expect your loyalty and devotion." Tom's voice is that of man who can casually ask for such things, knowing he will get them. He cannot wait to pull one over Dumbledore, the older brother of the chosen one, a Death Eater! Poetic is too mild a word. "All of your loyalties. War on my side is a sacrifice and a commitment, you do not get to take what you want and leave what you do not." For a split second, Hadrian face made an expression. It looked awkward, almost as if his factions had very little practice in looking hesitant. In a flash, he closed up and met Voldemort's gaze._

_"My conditions stand." He said unwaveringly. "I want an unbreakable vow. Promise me that and I will swear loyalty to you. You can brand me right here, right now." His green eyes seemed more vivid than ever, and if Tom didn't know better he could almost see electricity cursing through them._

_"You must think me a fool." Potter pulled out a small vial and set it down on the table between them. Tom had to still himself, lest he shift in discomfort. His hair standing on end on his arm, the back of his neck… there was no mistaking what was in the vial: Potter Blood._

_"Do the vow, and I will give you this… willingly." Potter was pale, whether by nature or by nerves had yet to be determined. He seemed composed, but Tom could glance that his hands were shaking. Hadrian Potter might be a bright wizard, but he wasn't immune to Lord Voldemort's reputation and power. "I want you to leave my brother in my hands, he will not come for you. I want the few people I care about to be protected. I want Albus Dumbledore dead. If I cannot stall my brother, and he comes for you the vow is null."_

_"You believe you can curve the destiny of the Boy-Who-Lived?"_

_"I believe that my kid brother should stay far away from adult war business." Voldemort raised a brow._

_"A bit hypocritical, no?"_

_"Believe me, when I say," His voice was suddenly empty. "I've hardly ever been a child."_

_"Will you really commit yourself to my cause?" He questioned. "We don't do things like you're used to in the Light side."_

_"Light wizards hardly carry vials of their own blood around, now, do they?" Tom once again had the vivid images of green eyes. Suddenly, he had the very real realization that Hadrian Potter had played a role in his defeat 10 years ago and Tom wanted to know what. Tom had wondered the suspiciously timed blood, after all; Potter couldn't have known he'd meet Tom here. He could think several spells off the top of his mind that required the casters blood. None of them legal. He smiled. Yes, the mystery of Hadrian Potter was amusing._

_Potter laid his left arm on the table, rolling up his sleeve. Did he even know what he was offering? His face was set, his pale skin unblemished. Tom could not wait to taint it. He knew Hadrian thought himself a Dark Wizard, that much was clear ,but just how far could he push him? Just how far could he make him fall? He'd look beautiful with Tom's brand on him. Pale fingers reached for his arm._

_There was electricity in the air. A part of Tom howled in delight at the contact and he had to reign in his magic. This boy was special. Tom would use him, he'd enjoy him. He'd twist Harry Potter into the poster boy of his cause, his most ardent supporter and he'd exploit the sentimentality of everyone who knew him._

_He wondered, briefly, what ran through the mind of a child submitting himself to the Darkest Wizard to ever live? It was foolish and risky but for a moment, the heat cursing through his veins really did want to mark Hadrian Potter right there in the middle of Magical Britain's most populated shopping district._

_"Harry? Who's your friend?" The spell broke. Suddenly, with reflexes he did not catch, the vial of blood vanished. Tom saw the way Potter's entire body stiffened, and he showed the first signs of real humanity underneath his perfectly constructed mask. Bingo._

_When Hadrian Potter had sat down to commit treason, he had obviously known that he'd meet Lord Voldemort. Really, it was a given. From that simple fact, though, he would've need to be a seer to think up the scenario where he is ambushed at Fortescue's and is forced to introduce him as his friend to his very much Light-inclined godfather. Tom had been wondering who else in the Light had Hadrian Potter's contempt, but this man clearly had quiet the opposite._

_So, Young Potter had quiet the glaring weakness._

_"Sirius!" His eyes were blown wide, clearly he was affected by the exchange of power that had occurred. Tom could feel his heartbeat in his chest, which showed him to be just as affected. Interesting indeed. Hadrian threw up a charming smile, but Tom could feel his pulse where his hand still grabbed the other's forearm. His heart rate was furious. "This is uh…"_

_"Tom." He extended his hand, smiling genuinely. He really needed to get out more, this had been brilliant. "Harry and I are pen pals. He goes to school with my cousin, we have some… interests… in common." If Harry disapproved of the cover story he did not flinch. Sirius shook his hand warmly._

_"Pleasure." Sirius said curtly, but his eyes were soft. Tom noted for a moment that no one had looked at him like that, ever._

* * *

"What's up with your eye?" Arcturus questions, because it's the third time Hadrian reaches out to touch it and its an odd gesture in his usually unflappable cousin. They're sitting in the library by candlelight, making some after-hours research.

"It got plucked out and then stuffed back in." Hadrina says, resting his head on his palm nonchalantly as he turns the page. He looks up to settle green eyes on Arcturus and a shiver travels down the young man's spine. Hadrian smiles, but there's nothing cheery in the gesture, just a stretch of the lips, a body without a soul. "It itches." Silence greets the statement and Arcturus sighs.

"I really don't understand your humor sometimes." His cousin bites a laugh. "Did you hear that Moody missed class today? The first years were so relieved I thought they were going to cry." The auror had garnered copious dislike in the Hogwarts population, seemingly alienating every student he came across whether by personality or reputation. Arcturus doesn't think he is necessarily a bad instructor, if a bit more hands on than the Slytherin is used to.

Hadrian humms in response, clearly uninterested in the subject. Arcturus closes another book about potions and opens the remaining one of Herbology. After two nigths of research, he's ready to call this thing off but there's no such thing when it comes to Charlie Potter, Arcturus knows, but he's restless and bored. And Hadrian keeps dodging every question Arcturus has asked.

"How do you know what the Second task is?" There's no need for subtlety, Arcturus loves the game, but he also loves to win and with Hadrian there's simply no point. His cousin looks at him with an unimpressed eyebrow, but leans in to whisper a secret.

"I have Barty Crouch Sr. under the Imperius. He told me." Arcturus deflates.

"I hate you so much."

This time, Harry does laugh.


	4. Amongst Hogwarts Halls

_The Hogwarts expressed was beautiful and enigmatic, everything you could expect from a magical train. Time seemed suspended from the blurry scenery and buzzing background conversation of hundreds of students. In one of the last compartments sat two boys, a pile of candy between them._

_"I don't really know him." Charlus Potter shrugged uncomfortably, his long fringe covered his famous scar. He knew this would come up the moment Ron started talking about his brother, he was hesitant to tell him, even though it wasn't really a secret. There was no way people wouldn't start realizing there was something odd about the Potter brothers when their interactions showed they didn't know each other._

_Ron Weasly's face scrunched up the way only 11-year-old's can, so confused he almost went almost crossed eye. He was a bit awed. While Ron had certainly been a little star struck about him being the Boy-Who-Lived, he immediately latched on to another conversation topic he deigned much more interesting: Harry. No one had ever dismissed Charlie's fame so easily, it was a relief that left him feeling oddly hollow._

_"How can you not know your own brother?" He exclaimed, he had enough sense to hear his mother's chiding tone. _

_"I mean; I know of him." The boy was quick to reply. "But because I have been hidden for years, he has been living with relatives. My parents wanted him to have a normal childhood." He didn't say unlike me but he thought about it._

_Charlus' brown eyes hardened, and the compartment air was ridiculously awkward._

_"Blimey, I can't imagine growing away from my brothers. I have a ton of them, too!" Ron said, almost wistfully. "Most be cool having your parent's to yourself. Have you really never met? Nothing?"_

_"We've exchanged letters." Charlie explained. "They've dwindled down throughout the years as we've gotten older, though." The raven was clearly bothered, and took a moment to arrange his round glasses. "Mom says it's because of our age difference, that we don't have many things in common."_

_"That's actually how I know about him." Ron said. "My elder brothers are a year below him and Percy's in his year. The way they talked about him you'd think he's like… the bee's knees, mate."_

_"I thought you said your entire family was in Gryffindor." Charlus said softly, brows furrowed._

_"Yeah, why?"_

_"My brother Harry is a Slytherin."_

_Ron looked as if he had swallowed a lemon._

* * *

Cedric's not surprised to see Hadrian Potter coming towards the Hufflepuff's table, not when the guy has a tendency of ignoring any kind of rule -written or unwritten. He _is _surprised to see him heading directly for him. He's smiling, green eyes eyeing up and down the table until they settle on Cedric. Harry's in Cedric's year and therefore the Hufflepuff is acquinted with the mercurial moods of the eldest Potter. They've partnered up a couple times throughout the years with successful results, but Cedric also knows a lot of other people who have met ruin by dealing with him -he'd rather keep his distance.

His thoughts make him feel slightly guilty. Harry's a decent bloke, perfectly polite, charming and a great Quidditch Player. Cedric knows they could be fast friends. There's just something that never quiet seems to click with him, as if Cedric's just seeing a sliver of who Harry is. It unnerves him. He's not going to snub him, he's seen what _that _can get you and Cedric prefers to live his life un-pranked but... He also has never been able to relax around him. (Somehow he knows Harry knows and that the other finds it funny.)

Speaking to Charlie Potter that first time was jarring, he'd hardly believe Harry and Charlie could be so closely related. The kid is sunny and shy and naive, so well-meaning Cedric thought it odd he's a Gryffindor and not a Hufflepuff. Though, now that he's paying attention, he notices that Charlie is almost never with his brother, and the more Cedric tries to think about them interacting the less frequent they seem -in fact, he's not sure he's ever seen them exchange words at all.

"Hey Cedric, how are you doing?" The people around him exchange wary glances, but Harry's smile is disarming and most of them smile back at his greeting, Cedric included. "I haven't seen much of you without Quidditch season." Not necessarily untrue, seeing as they only shared Charms.

"I miss it a lot." And Cedric does, being in the Triwizard Tournament isn't what he'd thought it'd be (he doesn't regret it, no matter what's happened but death has never been so real before).

"Didn't think you would, _champion." _Harry looks relaxed, conversing with Cedric across the table, it almosts look like he belongs there and isn't that a strange thought to have? If there's one person who's cunning, it is someone smart enough to never appear so.

"It's... certainly a different experience." Cedric remembers the egg in his bag and he feels heavy. He's still unsure about how to figure it out, he looks at his almost empty plate and doesn't really feel like eating anymore. The egg has had him sleepless for days.

"Any luck figuring out the clue, yet?" The question is nonchalant but Cedric doesn't miss that Harry is is no way here just to chitchat and perks up immediately. Is he here in behalf of Charlie? His pride smarts a little, but the young Gryffindor had warned him before, maybe...

"No," he says, maybe a little too fast, "not really." Harry humms noncommittally, eyeing the rest of the Hufflepuffs who are doing their best to not look as if they're following the conversation with rapt attention.

"Are you heading for Charms?" The Hufflepuff is smart enough to catch the hint and nods as he picks up his bag, he absent-mindedly waves off his friends and rises to match Harry's strides out of the Great Hall. He doesn't remember the last time he was alone with Harry and in his excitement for a possible clue, Cedric almost forgets why he's always kept his guard up around the Slytherin. Almost, because as soon as they're out of the hall Cedric can tell they _are not _heading to Charms and keeps a firm grip on his wand in his pocket.

He feels silly, being ready to defend an attack from a fellow student but he just can't stay calm. Harry seems very much aware of his discomfort and Cedric can see him smiling at him as he guides the way. Harry's certainly amused with the effect he has on Cedric. Finally they arrive at a desolate hallway, Cedric almost thinks he hasn't been in this particular hallway before, but a lot of them are just too similar to differentiate correctly. It's remote and empty -which is probably the point, and the realization stirs something in Cedric that he doesn't like.

"I know the secret of the egg." The shorter boy tells him, sitting on a nearby windowsill. His gaze doesn't stray from Cedric, examining every twitch as he takes in the proclamation.

"Did Charlie send you?" Something flickers in the Slytherin's eyes but he remains silent, Cedric gives it a couple of moments before trying again. "Are you going to tell me?" He ventures, because why else would he be dragged to a corner of the castle?

"I will." Harry nods, and something in Cedric's chest loosens. "On one condition." _A promise with the devil_ echoes somewhere in his brain but that's silly. Cedric's never bought on that ridiculous idea of House Stereotypes, in no small part due to Hufflepuff's own unflattering reputation. Being a Slytherin or secretive doesn't make Harry a bad person. Something must be reflected on his face though, because the other chuckles and promptly adds, "Not anything harmful I assure you."

"Go on." Cedric allows.

"I want you to share the clue with Charlie." That's... confusing. "I want an Unbreakable Vow that you will tell him and that you will never share with anyone I gave you the hint." And that just run right pass confused into concerning territory.

"You want me to tell _your _brother the hint? And _an Unbreakabale Vow_ for me to not tell people you told me?" He repeats, and suspicion blooms in him wild and untamed. The obvious reason could be that the information is false and Harry doesn't want anyone knowing he's sabotaging Cedric, or he's sabotaging _Charlie _and doesn't want it to be linked to him.

"That _is _what I said."

"I'm going to need a little bit more context, I'm sure you understand, because right now you sound bonkers, mate."

"Naturally, my side of the Unbreakable Vow involves assuring you that the information is 100% true or otherwise the arrangement is moot." Those are big claims, if Harry has made a mistake the Unbreakable Vow might still count the failure as a breach of the agreement... which could be interpreted as a purposeful breaking of the magical contract. The eerie feeling that Cedric always get around Harry is back, as the other man watches Cedric furiously processing mind impassively.

"You're not trying to help me." He states, puzzle pieces fitting together to form an odd outlook of reality. "You're trying to help Charlie, you just don't want him to know it's you the help is coming from." It's a bold claim and Cedric feels it might've been too out there when Harry chuckles in his face. His eyes glint as they watch him, and there's something a little too _gleeful_, or a little _too much_ in them. Their isolation strikes Cedric again, forcefully. His instincts demand more attention.

"You've always being more perceptive than most, Cedric, such a skill will serve you well if you learn how to use it."

"Why?"

"Is it wrong to not want to steal my brother's accomplishments?" That is... surprisingly kind of him, Cedric thinks. Charlie Potter might be the Boy-Who-Lived but even Cedric's continuously measuring him against his brother's accomplishment, hadn't he been pondering it just at breakfast before? "He's a capable wizard and I don't want to overshadow his independence but I'm... worried." He says it openly, almost sheepishly as if he were admitting to a particularly embarrassing secret and it is the open and easy to read display that makes Cedric even more careful. "Him not knowing I'm... _meddling, _in his business is _very _important to me."

"So, you assure me the clue you give me is real and I promise to tell Charlie this same clue and never reveal where the information comes from?" It sounds a little too good to be true. The smile in Harry's face is soft and genuine, and it catches Cedric off-guard.

"Indeed." He nods.

"Okay." And just like that, Cedric participates in his first ever Unbreakable Vow. It makes him feel out of his depth, older and more mature the way only the unknown can do. _I'm not a child_ _anymore,_ he thinks, _I can make these decisions now._ He cannot squash the desire to have talked it over with his father before, but he doesn't think Harry was going to offer twice. The magic is settling around them when something pops up in Cedric's mind, born in the protectiveness Harry has shown through their conversation -something's not letting him calm down now that's all done.

"Harry, what would you have done if I refused?" The other man is still sitting by the window, eyes looking out to the forest in the distance. He looks a little surprised at the questions and he turns around slowly to look at him when he answers.

"Oh, I would've obliviated you." He deadpans, green eyes startling in their vehemence before crinkling, suddenly he's smiling at Cedric. "Just kidding." And then he's laughing and all the tension vanishes, and suddenly Cedric realizes that he couldn't _breath _before and how odd is that? (It makes him think Harry's not joking at all.) Kind words be damned, Cedric is worried that he just agreed to something that has no good intentions behind it, but it's too late. Harry tells him about the egg and Cedric cannot even feel bad about being told because, how exactly was he supposed to figure that out? Accidentally drop the thing in the bath?

It hits Cedric later when he's thinking about, Cedric has an egg and he'd had no clue how to figure out the hint... _how could Harry possibly know?_


	5. Library Meeting

**Here we go :)**

* * *

_Harry hadn't recognized his mother when she arrived to watch the remains of Number 4 Private Drive burn. She'd just look like one more face in the crowd, though he could tell her tears were more genuine than most. His father next to her had been equally unfamiliar, Harry hadn't seen either of them in years, not since he was a toddler. Milfa though, does know who they are and she carries Harry, who at 8 is almost her size, towards them in a hurry._

_"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter..." The couple's eyes widen when they see them, the woman falling to her knees in front of him and basically ripping him out from Milfa's frail arms. Harry usually doesn't like people touching him, not when it never brought on anything good but a part of him hasn't entirely forgotten what a mother is like. He also knows, objectively, that he is Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter who send him letters. Milfa had called them Mr. and Mrs. so it's not a leap to assume this must be his parents. _

_Harry's happy._

_"Mom?" _

_"Oh, sweetie, baby, my baby... are you okay?" Her voice is soft and hurried and fearful, Harry's absolutely delighted. He throws his arms around her unabashedly. "Oh," she says sadly, "it's okay, Harry, you're okay." Harry dismissed the comment, he knows he's okay. Only the bad people were burning. He buries his head in her mother's shoulders, taking in her scent and the way her hair tickles his ears. She's absolutley beautiful, Harry couldn't have dreamt her if he wanted to. He laughs, loud and clear and childlike; in the voice of one wholly free and relieved. Her mother leans back to look at him but Harry doesn't want to let her go._

_"Harry, son." James kneels next to them, and it's the voice __of his father, of his dad that finally has Harry reemerging. He's smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. If he'd known this is what it'd take for his parents to come back, well, Harry wishes he could've burned down the house sooner! "What happened?" Behind them, Milfa is shuffling her feet, eyes trained on Harry._

_"The house went boom!" He tells them. "But Milfa and I went POP!" _

_"Harry, there was an explosion?"_

_"Yes, yes, big! It was really hot but the we were outside and it was okay."_

_"Harry, do you know what caused the explosion?"_

_"Mr. Potter..." Milfa tries to cut in but she's too late. Harry's still grinning from ear to ear when he answers._

_"I did."_

* * *

Charlie can't tear away his eyes from the shaking form of his mother. They're both chilled to the bone, and despite the fact that he's returned first and that technically both him and Lily are okay he cannot stop looking at her pale face as she asks if he's okay. She could've_ died._ _His mom...!_

Someone's wrapping another warm blanket around him and Charlie barely recognizes Hermione's face coming into his view, she's drenched too. How...? How could Charlie leave her behind? How...? He looks at Lily, but he knows he couldn't have carried both of them, it'd been hard enough as is... fighting the mermpeople was out of the question. He shakes off Lily's embrace and jumps his friend, a smattering of choked off apologies burying into her shoulder.

(Guilt eats away at him, because he would've let her die. He won't voice it out loud, he thinks most people wouldn't assume it, most would only see a tough choice and _it all worked out in the end. _But Charlie knows, he _knows.)_

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He repeats, because, what would he do without her really? Hermione who knows all of his secrets, but perhaps, more importantly, the secrets Charlie keeps but does not own, inherited from cursed blood. Her palms are called where they brush his neck when she hugs him back.

"...It's okay, Charlie. I wasn't the bait for you."

* * *

"Charlie, you've had a right struck of luck in this tournament." Charlie knows Ron means well, he does, but so far, Charlie's been burned by dragon fire, had to rescued his kidnapped mother at the cost of his best friend and is still missing the hardest event. He's not feeling particularly lucky.

"I know it doesn't feel that way, but I think Ron has a point." It's been a couple days and apparenly the entire castle is over their excitement over the second task, Hermione included. (Charlie isn't though.) The trio of Gryffindors sit at the library table, guilt-tripped into starting homework early, accompanied by Neville. Charlie's childhood friend doesn't usually join them but it's a Saturday and he's free from assisting at the greenhouse. "You've been doing exceedingly well in challenges designed to test and fail wizards years above your skill level."

"Can you believe there was a teacher out to kill you?" The Hufflepuff whispers, briefly looking up from his reading.

"And he mysteriously shows up dead?" Hermione presses on.

"The twins were gossiping that Moody's imposter was murdered, grotesquely so." Ron comments.

"First, the letter warns you about the dragons, _before _Hagrid ever does. Without mentioning that the most dangerous dragon had to be changed because the Hungarian Horntail they brought was ill." Hermione lists. "Then, Cedric helps you with the egg -which could be a coincidence. Neville receives a book delivered to his dorm, which happens to have the perfect method to thrive in the second challenge. Someone's very invested in you winning this tournament." Her glance is meaningful.

The silence at the table is weighted, they all know what they're thinking.

"We don't think Hadrian had anything to do with all these happy coincidences... do we?" Neville ventures, finally closing down his book, dark blue cover face down on the wooden table.

"That slimy snake?" Ron shudders.

It's not that his name summons him, because Charlie's older brother has been sitting at the same corner of the library since before the younger students were. However, mention of him does make Charlie swivel his gaze without meaning to, it's not the first time he thinks that Harry is doing something, but then again, his brother always is, isn't he? His pranking has become more and more ridiculous through the years.

Last week he turned the moving staircases into waterfalls, clean spring water cascading down floor after floor of stairs. It had been particularly entertaining seeing it drench people at the base level when the stairways moved and broke the flow. (McGonagall _had not _found it funny. And Hadrian's _Guess cats really don't like baths _had earned him detention for almost the entire year -though Charlie doesn't think he understands why his teachers still bother. They cannot expel him though, not when they can never quiet prove it's him.

Charlie looks at his brother, tall and elegant and most definitely slytherin as he talks with Arcturus and Draco, and Charlie _hates. _Malfoy is always on and on hanging on to Hadrian, parading behind him with adoration in his eyes. Charlie's never understood Harry's unending patience when it comes to the blond ponce. Malfoy _has _tone down the racist rethoric, which serves as much-cherished prove that Harry -despite his house and his past- is _not _truly evil, not when Charlie keeps all his letters. He looks down at his ring, the purple stone on it seemingly thunderous from its black innards. His fingers are finally big enough for the ring to fit on his thumb, though he'd received the ring many years ago. He stands up.

"Charlie?" Hermione questions.

"Where you going mate?"

"I'm just... going to ask." He says, and he despises how he states it out loud, this is his brother, when did Charlie start being so hesitant around him?

"...rry, Snape's going to rip you a new one if you show to class unprepared again." It's Arcturus Black scolding Hadrian as Harry approaches the table hesitantly, Malfoy catches sight of him but seems to be more concerned on hiding his snickers.

"I think he'll probably will anyways..." His brother shrugs. "I think he's still upset about last week." Most likely referencing the waterfall incident.

"Or the week before that, or the time before _that..." _Draco trailes off amusedly. "I hear lots about your exploits over Christmas."

"Alleged, _alleged _exploits." Harry's smiling, but by now his green eyes are settled on Charlie, who's standing only a few feet away. "Little brother." He acknowledges, Draco's hacles rise at his side as Black looks on with mild interest.

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy demands, but does seem properly chastised as soon as Harry's whitering stare lands on him. He huffs, and crosses his arms, leaning back on the chair -but the brief flicker of true fear in his eyes is genuine. Not for the first time, nor the last he's sure, Charlie tries to figure out what the relationship between Draco and Harry is.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He gives the table a meaningful glance. "Alone." Harry rises, walking past him to a corner further away from them. There's a large window, and Harry sits by it as he settles to listen to Charlie.

"What is it little brother, I didn't know we were speaking." It's a soft gibe, and Charlie doesn't think his brother -who's always kept him mostly at arm's length means it, but the meaning of it isn't lost.

"Have you been secretly helping me in the tournament?" Charlie asks, because that's really all he wants to know. Harry's expression doesn't ripple, his eyes show no change as he say:

"Yes, obviously." The tone is neutral, too neutral.

"You have?!" Charlie says, shocked at the admission. He does think in the end the only person interested enough but also secretive enough to pull it off is Hadrian; he also thought his brother would never admit it.

"If you think so, maybe my support has been more meaningful than I thought." He's still serious, and unchanging. "I'll keep cheering on for you." Charlie wants to run with the admission, but there's something in the phrasing that strikes something odd in Charlie. Are they talking about the hints or just his brother generally being on his corner? Charlie knows some slytherins were trying to run his name through the mud for been the fourth champion and he knows the only reason it didn't happen is Harry.

(Any further displeasure or discussion is cleared up once an undercover Death Eater is found in school.)

"So, you've known about the tasks beforehand and given me hints." Charlie specifies, looking for the same candidness as before, if Harry's face was different, maybe he'd catch the lie. His brother smiles, a grin that is too many teeth and zero cheer.

"Oh, little brother, if I'd know that your task today was to rescue Lily Potter from the lake..." His green eyes narrow, as his gaze seems to look right through Charlie before refocusing on his face. Hate mars the usually lovely visage. "...I'd made sure she drowned at the bottom of that lake." The venom in the words cause him to take a step back, and it takes all of Charlie's willpower to remain firm and standing. He looks at his brother's face and he cannot help the fear that grips him. For himself, but for Harry too. His heart breaks a little, but he knows this situation has no winners. His mom would forever be a person Harry could not love.

But why did he have to say things like this? He knows it's selfish, but Charlie cannot imagine his life without Lily. He looks once more at his brother's face, and it makes Charlie sick but he doesn't think he's lying. His brother probably would've let Lily die if he'd had the passive opportunity. After all, Harry's killed before. Charlie sighs, there's his answer then. He nods to his brother, bids him a brief farewell wrapped up in a thank you and strolls back to his table. His head's already up in the clouds.

But if not Harry... who?


	6. Sides

**Last time, Harry and Tom have a macabre encounter, the result of Harry murdering undercover Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr.**

* * *

_Lord Voldemort was hardly a man Death esteems, if it were so inclined to be honest or voice opinions out loud. Arrogant beyond belief, unnatural to a degree few were able to grasp. Worshipped as a God and feared as a monster –a brand of charisma rare to find and hard to resist. Death would not be fooled though; such trivialities were only useful in mere men. As Tom Riddle sits in his study, there is mirth in Death at his confusion._

_The Dark Lord's stronghold study is an essential setting to our story, _his_ story. The floors are made of dark wood, and the walls are lined in bookshelves. The stone of the fireplace is stony black but seems to hold whispers of silver, and it reminds Death of the night sky of the dawn of time. The fire lies dormant, the room illuminated by floor to ceiling windows opposite of the fireplace; there seems to be no door. The room is opulent yet highly practical. It has an imposing desk, filled with writing utensils, books, parchment, not a single quill out of place._

_An ivory cabinet is closed and laboriously spelled, and a sitting room with a leather couch and two adjacent armchairs. In one of those armchairs relaxes the Dark Lord. A single cup of steaming tea, wisps of smoke climbing up into the air, leaves traces of the magic that keeps it warm. The Dark Lord's eyes can't follow the trail of stardust the way Death itself can. The tea has been all but forgotten in the face of the mystery in the Dark Lord's hands, Death couldn't blame him. Hadrian does have that effect on people._

_These days, the Dark Lord passes as people pretty well. Once, he'd been a slow-aging man, fit for his age. Then, he'd been a sacrifice to the blackest magics. Death has never met a visage as tragic and wrong in his existence, but Lord Voldemort's destiny had always been to defy reason. Death knows that. Alas now, he looks like a man who could've still been riding the coattails of adolescence. His quest for immortality hadn't been glorious, but he'd gone where no one else had dared tread. Errors in judgment were expected to a degree, but Lord Voldemort is old now. Even though the man who wears the title isn't. His soul pieces are still merging, but his follower's foolish and amateurish attempts at bringing him back to life had worked, exemplifying the idea of beginner's luck beautifully._

_In the end, it was that ambition that landed Tom Riddle in Slytherin, his intellect and his sheer hate and drive that allowed him to pull himself out of corruption, of madness, and of… Death; for now, that is. Death's aware Voldemort considers his journey foretold, a blessing. Yet, it is hardly immortality holding his thoughts tonight, but something much more mundane and yet, all the more surprising because of it._

_In his hand, Lord Voldemort holds a letter. Death knows very well who that letter belongs to. It's unnecessary to peer over the wizard's shoulder, Death had been there when the letter had first been written. It is that curiosity that has dragged him to this room to see the results of several attempts at writing it. It isn't every day that Death is privy to a frustrated Hadrian. The message is direct and says more by what it doesn't say than what it does, much like Hadrian Potter himself._

**_Lord Voldemort,_**

**_Do you actually like people calling you that? I had to ask._**

**_We do not know each other._**

**_Yet, I assure you, we have much in common, Thomas Marvolo Riddle._**

**_So much, in fact, that I'm gambling my entire life on this letter. In itself, it is a calculated risk, and I hope you, out of all people, appreciate the sentiment._**

**_I am a quiet insignificant player in this cold war. By lineage, I can be considered opposition; but at heart, your cause and my own align splendidly. You have wealth, power, followers, and many other assets, but you've been cursed by bloodline and bounded by prophecy. Don't deny it, my source is paramount. After all, the blood that weakens you runs through my veins._**

**_I am willing to offer a range of skills and services available due to my somewhat unique standing for only 3 conditions. Presumptuous, I am aware. The requirements are as followed:_**

**_1\. I will handle Charlus Potter._**

**_2\. There will be a non-fatal ban on a concise list of people._**

**_3\. Albus Dumbledore must die._**

**_If these terms are not entirely disagreeable to you, I would like to begin a correspondence so that we might negotiate. If they are too unpleasant, just forget it ever happened._**

**_Kind regards,_**

**_Hadrian James Potter_**

_Lord Voldemort is not amused, which the letter hopefully intended. He is bordering steadily on annoyed and indignant, but he is curious. The message indeed also counted on that. It lacked subtlety, but Death doesn't think Hadrian is going for subtle. In the end, he watches as Lord Voldemort waves his hand in the direction of the fireplace and calls for one of his subordinates. Hadrian has succeeded. He had wanted the Dark Lord's interest, and now, he has it._

_Lord Voldemort has a series of fundamental questions. The eldest Potter child has slipped his radar for the last couple of years –which in hindsight, the Dark Lord realizes, is odd in the first place. In his mind, he sees vivid green eyes. The letter has one glaring mistake. Lord Voldemort and Hadrian Potter had met; the night the Dark Lord slaughtered his grandparents like pigs._

_What prompted a teenager to deal with the devil, Voldemort wonders, but then again, the letter does say, doesn't it?_

**_Albus Dumbledore must die._**

_As the Death Eater answers his Master's call, Death will keep an eye out on those two. Now that Hadrian is older, things are getting interesting. Although where Hadrian Potter is concerned, they are never dull._

Arcturus tries not to stare at Hadrian's dark mark when he has the opportunity to catch a glimpse at it. His cousin has had it for years, but it never gets any less jarring, and as of lately, Artie knows that it's a matter of time before his _own _arm is equally decorated. It's a sore subject for him; he understands the Black Family's stance, he does. The Black Heir is immensely proud of the blood that flows through his veins and is emboldened by generations of Blacks' achievements before him. It's just, he also knows that the Blacks were notorious centuries before ever serving the Dark Lord, and as his cousin is more and more absent as their years at Hogwarts come to an end, the more Arcturus wishes they could've stuck to that.

He loves his father, but in his mother's lovely words, _he had bloody well fucked them up._

It's not a thought he has shared with Hadrian. Hadrian has always been a little off, Arcturus know, but ever since 4th-year, things had changed for the worse. Not only did Hadrian seemed to drift into a place Arcturus could not follow, but when he'd gotten the Dark Mark before the summer of the fifth year, Arcturus' own father seems to fall into the same dance. If it were for those two, the Black Heir would be in the dark about the going-ons of the Dark Lord's stronghold. Thankfully, his _other _cousin has all the information and none of the wisened maturity.

"Did something happen with the Dark Lord last week?" Draco, munching an apple while resting against one of the many trees surrounding the lake, chokes on the bite he's chewing. He has much too decorum to make a mess, but Arcturus finds the occasion funny regardless. As the fourth year composes himself, he processes the question and seems to go a little green at the gills.

"Argh," he voices in disgusts, features twisting in profound disturbance, "trust me on this, Artie, _you don't wanna know."_

"Don't be a baby, Draco," Arcturus presses, familiar with all of Draco's bottoms. The younger boy hesitates, and it must be bad if Draco doesn't want to tell him, but the gossiper in him wins out in the end.

"Dobby thinks the Dark Lord popped out Harry's eye," Draco murmurs, looking down at his half-eaten fruit, "_for fun."_

_Someone plucked out my eye and put it back in... it itches._

Bloody hell.

Hadrian had meant it.

It takes all of his 17 years of etiquette training to keep the bile rising up in Arcturus' throat down. This is exactly why Arcturus wants nothing to do with Death Eaters. His mind flashes to Harry's ever-increasingly empty bed, to the rumors about him and the things he's done, about his father's lengthy conversations with him, his mother's insistent concerns. What Arcturus cannot figure out is _why _Hadrian would get involved with the Dark Lord in the first place?

(He tries to not think that the answer is revenge.)

"Do you think they're actually banging?" Draco asks out of the blue.

"Bloody hell, Draco!" Arcturus exclaims, turning away from the still waters of the lake to glare flabbergasted at his cousin's crass question.

"They are, you know," Draco says, looking away as he apparently answers his own question, "everybody says so." His instinctive reaction is, _who's everybody? _But that's childish. He knows precisely who everybody is: the dark pureblood circles they have been mingling with more and more. He also knows, from late-night Common Room whispers, that Draco is more than likely right.

"You are way too young to know these things," he snaps out instead, but he has wondered. Arcturus hates himself for querying, but there's no helping it. He's never dared ask Hadrian himself, how could he? What answer would he give? What response does Arcturus want to hear? No? Then what does Hadrian do in all the missing nights? Yes? Then how the hell does his barely legal cousin become the Dark Lord's concubine... and why? Is he _forced_ into it? It's hard to think of Hadrian as been forced into anything, but this is the Dark Lord they were talking about.

...How can Arcturus' family follow a man like that?

The morbid curiosity to know what exactly Hadrian is playing at has been building within Arcturus since the night of Charlie Potter's sorting. He's thought about it repeatedly, and he has no doubt: things started getting out of control when Charlie arrived at school. Arcturus doesn't consciously blame him, but the youngest Potter child is in the middle of it all. Unsurprisingly, considering he's the Boy-Who-Lived.

"You're just unhappy that I play enough to hear these things while most socialites are terrified of your temper, don't think anyone's forgotten what you did at my Christmas Party." Draco drawls, but Arcturus doesn't rise to the bait. He breathes in deeply. Where Draco referring to any other social faux pas of his (not that there are many), Arcturus might've brushed it off, but this one still makes his blood boil.

"Flint deserved it," is all he says on the matter.

_I worry about the whore climbing into _my _bed, you know?_

"He did," the Malfoy agrees, "but I had thought of ten better ways of paying him back for his idiocy that did not involve exposing myself as the culprit."

"Didn't you curse Pansy in the middle of the common room _last week?" The best part of being an older cousin, _Arcturus thinks as Draco huffs, _is watching the youngsters blush. _"Careful, hypocrisy isn't a good look on you."

"Artie," Draco asks, once again looking away. Arcturus wonders if he's finally going to open his trap about whatever caused him to drag the seventh year out to the chilly November afternoon. He hopes that it wasn't Hadrian's creepy sex life. "Do you think that Hadrian is on the Dark Lord's side?"

_Things would be so much simpler if I could believe that._

"I think he's on his own side," his cousin is too much of a Slytherin for Arcturus to honestly believe he's offered complete loyalty to anyone.

"...My dad worries about that, too."

"Mine doesn't say anything about it, but whenever Hadrian visits, they lock themselves up in the study for hours." Arcturus used to be bitter about it, but he knows better know.

_Do not envy other's misfortunes, Arcturus Regulus Black. I have raised you better,_

"Oh please, mine still thinks I don't know he's a Death Eater," Draco rolls his eyes. "Everything I hear is through Dobby, the poor guy comes back traumatized."

"I can believe that Hadrian convinced you to befriend your house-elf, he's always had a thing about them..." Arcturus murmurs, thinking of Kreacher's love for the adopted Black, "what I cannot believe is how bloody useful it's been through the years."

"Well, I've been known to take good advice when given some."

"Sure," Arcturus laughs lightly, "if, by that, you mean that your hero-worship of Hadrian could motivate you to ride a Hippogriff if Hadrian told you to." In a moment of cleverness, Draco agrees with him instead of blustering through a denial.

"So would you."

_It's something I have to do, Artie. You can say... I was born for it, really. _

"...Yeah."

"Speaking of Dobby. Artie, there's something else... I think we're going to have to choose a side soon."

"Draco, you're much too young..."

"I don't mean between the Dark and the Light, cousin." Uncharacteristic of his manners, Draco interrupts, and so, Arcturus falls quiet. "I mean between Hadrian and the Dark Lord." Grey eyes pin on him, and for all his decorum, Draco's unsure eyes make him look more like a child than ever. "The reason the Dark Lord took out his eye... it's because Harry killed one of his Death Eater's."

It's slow going, I know, but here is the new chapter :D


	7. A Rough Week

_Arcturus scanned down the length of the Slytherin table, hurrying his steps as much as courtesy allowed. As always, Hadrian was surrounded by people that hanged on to his every word. One day, Arcturus would make his cousin admit how the bloody hell he managed that. Alas, there were more pressing matters._

_The gal next to Harry immediately scooted over when she saw him, winking at him in invitation. Arcturus swiftly ignored her -as if such crude behavior was worthy of being admired. He settled down with all the grace required by the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, nodding politely to some of his classmates. There was scarcely the need for tearful reunions. As Slytherin purebloods, he saw his friends fairly often during the summer; they did run in the same circles after all. Arcturus had something much more important on his mind. He'd been obsessing over asking his cousin ever since he overheard a strange conversation at Grimmauld Place, but he hadn't dared question Harry via owl. Not in the times they lived in._

_"Good evening, Hadrian," he greeted politely. He was perceptive enough to realize the exact moment his cousin detected some tenseness from him. His grin widened, a wild beast smelling blood. Arcturus gulped._

_"Artie, dear cousin," Hadrian smiled, and Arcturus did not ignore how they'd become a scene from a sold-out play at their table. Slytherin had plenty of curious eyes and ears; some just were more discreet than others. "How are you?"_

_"I'm well," he replied curtly. He and Hadrian did see each other just a few days before. Not much had changed, but... "I've meant to ask you..."_

_"Surely, cousin, you are not bringing up the family business to the dining table?" Harry's smile was intact as if he and Artie were sharing a joke, but his green eyes were glowing. Arcturus knew he was taller than Harry; he just didn't feel like that most of the time._

_"Later?" He pressed, hoping to squeeze a promise out of Harry. His cousin's eyes showed he knew precisely what Artie was trying to do but nodded anyway._

_"We'll play some chess." _Of course.

_"Oh, you're going to kick Artie's butt early in the year, jeez," Emma's superfluous commentary joined them as the tension between the two teens break. The Slytherin looks dazzling as she flipped a curl of light brown hair over her shoulder. She was as stealthy as ever; Arcturus hadn't noticed when she sat down. Once, he might've sneered at the half-blood, but it'd been a long time since he'd cared about someone's blood._

_"I'll have you know; I've gotten significantly better," Arcturus dismissed airily. He had been practicing over the summer certainly, but unless the world had entirely shifted on his axis between then and the week before, Hadrian was still the best Chess player Arcturus had ever seen. _

_"I'd quit while I'm ahead," Rene tagged on, lifting his silver-haired head out of his book. One tanned hand pushing up his glasses. "It'll only make you look worse when you're slaughtered." He was right, but Arcturus would say so over his dead body. He turned to his cousin, who was already conversing with Edward Mulciber, Slytherin's Quidditch captain. When they lulled, Arcturus cut in._

_"Harry, stop being good at everything."_

_"I regret nothing." Harry turned around to look at them, smiling and eyes dancing._

_"You're ruining the curve, Harry; think about the curve," Rene tells him, dexterous hands rebraiding the tail end of his long hair. Emma sighed and let her face fall into her hands. Like Arcturus, she had heard this argument plenty of times._

_"You'd think you'd be used to the curve by now, Rene," Artie snorted._

_"Not all of us spend the summer being academic and playing chess. Some of us are trying to relax and have fun."_

_"Not you."_

_"Yeah," the pureblood immediately agreed, "Not me, but if I wanted to, I can't because I'm expected to keep up with you lot. Why couldn't I get lazier friends?"_

_"Is it too late at this point?" Arcturus asked nobody in particular as if contemplating his choices._

_"Oh shush, you know you love us." Emma refuted._

_"Love is a powerful word." Rene rolled his eyes._

_"I'm just saying, if anything, lending you my notes is out of love..."_

_"Black, you _charge_ for those." Rene counters exasperatedly, braid done but giving up on going back to reading._

_"Not to everyone, I don't. I refuse my notes to plenty of people."_

_"That's only because they don't have anything you care about to trade with."_

_"My point remains."_

_"It really doesn't."_

_"The sorting's starting." Harry's voice cuts easily through the conversation, and as if on cue, the tiny first years strolled in, a swarm of nerves and potential and innocence._

_Artie had never been so carefree as to gape at the enchanted room, but he'd certainly wanted to. Who could blame them? In fact, it's a good thing they could recognize extraordinary magic when they saw it. He caught sight of black hair and round glasses, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. That's Charlie Potter, slowly he turned to look at Harry. He seemed as relaxed as ever, his eyes mirthful and green. Artie knew his cousin well enough to know that if he didn't want to give an inkling to his feelings, there would be little to glean without asking._

_Was it a coincidence? The conversation he'd overheard his father having, Harry's suspicious movements over the summer, and Charlie Potter's arrival to Hogwarts. No way those were unrelated. His cousin was smart enough for this one. Artie just wanted to know what he was getting into this time._

_For the Slytherin boys came Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini. Most of the names he recognized. For the girls came Bulstrode, Davis, Greengrass, and Parkinson. Lots of old families in this batch. With the lull in the war, the purebloods had gotten busy. Artie immediately grieved for such a vulgar thought._

_"A lot of old pureblood's heirs are among the firsties," Emma voiced, echoing Arcturus' thoughts._

_"We will just have to give the right impression." Harry smiled. Even though the entire hall went wild when he was announced, Harry had remained quiet during his brother's sorting._

_The boy was tiny but clearly in good physical condition. He strode to the hat purposefully. His oldest brother had none of his fame and had managed to quiet the hall just as quickly, Arcturus recalls. _

_The Gryffindor table turned impossibly more raucous when the Savior of the Wizarding World was sent to their House, not entirely unexpected. A part of Artie had been hoping Charlie would've been a Slytherin like Hadrian. He knows his cousin would've liked that. _

_He and Emma made eye contact briefly, an unspoken message between them._

_Dumbledore stood up, and for a moment, Arcturus felt a chill crawl its way down his spine. He had to suppress a reflexive shudder. He didn't have to look at Hadrian to see his eyes glowing, though the Slytherins around them seemed to miss it. Hadrian's enigmatic dislike of the Headmaster had only grown through the years, but Arcturus was as puzzled by it now as ever. _A mistake,_ Hadrian had said when Arcturus had mustered enough gall to ask, h_e made a huge mistake.

_It'd been years since that encounter, but Arcturus was no closer to understanding what could possibly earn Hadrian's passionate dislike. After a few odd words and senseless speech, the food appeared, and Arcturus put Albus Dumbledore out of his mind._

* * *

Regulus is much too young when he coordinates his friends into bringing back the Dark Lord, and he doesn't dare think it even in the darkest corner of his mind, but... maybe it hadn't been his brightest moment. He wishes his mistakes of youth were like Sirius, pregnancy scares, and failing grades, rather than the responsibility of unleashing the darkest wizard to ever live back into the world.

But... but the wizarding world is dying. Regulus knows most of the wizards don't realize it, but it is, and back then, Lord Voldemort had been the way, _the only way. _

The Horcruxes made him pause when Regulus realizes just what Kreacher has been sent to hide. For an insanity-riddled moment, Regulus thinks about betraying his Lord. Blacks are considered the darkest of magical families but splitting your soul through innocent murder to live forever? Who can stomach such a thing?

But in the end, Regulus stays loyal to the cause.

When his Lord is _vanished _-never killed nor defeated, Regulus only has the vaguest idea of what to do, but he knows the locket is one piece, knowing Voldemort, there must be more. He starts making floo calls.

_Did the Dark Lord ever ask you to safe keep an object?_

Lucious. Bellatrix.

A diary. A cup. A locket.

A cursed decade.

One more war.

These are the thoughts interrupted by knocking at the library's thick, cherrywood doors. The arrival does not wait for a reply, the knock heralding his presence rather than an askance for permission. Regulus looks over at the green eyes at his door, a deadened expression on his nephew's face, and wonders what Sirius would do to him if he knew what type of trouble Harry is into.

Pureblooded Death Eater Regulus Black, an accomplice to a teenager's whims.

"Harry," he greets, motioning for him to join him in the middle of the library. The young man's steps are silent on the light-colored rug as he settles on the adjacent armchair, and Regulus purses his lip in disapproval at the way he takes off his shoes to curl socked feet onto the chair.

"Hailie," the young man calls. _Pop _and the elf manifests.

"Special tea, Mister Hadrian?" The young man nods, pressing hands to his face.

"Thank you," he gets out. Regulus is never less impressed by the fondness in Hailie's expression when it comes to Harry. With another soft _pop, _she's gone. "It's been a long week, Uncle," he murmurs. Regulus swallows. He'd been curious as to what would've brought Harry to his door; he should have suspected it'd be this. He's glad Melva is visiting family in France; his wife doesn't tend to be so cavalier about Harry's consistent sneaking out of boarding school. She doesn't approve much of Harry's activities at all, actually.

"Lucius might've mentioned it." Harry lets his hands drop to give Regulus an unimpressed stare, it's cold, indeed, but Regulus has known Harry since he was a toddler. He catches on to the annoyance with ease.

"Does he not keep _anything_ to himself?"

"...Not really," Regulus admits, then steels his resolve. "Did the Dark Lord really...?" His answer is a measured stare. Harry's out of uniform, of course, wearing black pants and an oversized green hoodie. He looks like a muggle, a well-educated one surely, of good breeding with delicate features and arched brows. Hadrian looks like a rebellious child, fighting back against traditional parents. He looks nothing like the vital piece in Lord Voldemort's success in taking over Britain.

"Do you really want to know?" No, Regulus definitely _does not _want to know. Alas, as the only responsible parental figure in Harry's life who is aware of his rather extreme extracurriculars, _someone has to. _Telling Harry that is a sure-fire way of losing him, though. Regulus does things the Slytherin way and goads him.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he offers magnanimously, biting his cheek at Harry's irritated expression.

"Don't try that with me," he warns, and Regulus replies with nothing but innocence shining in his grey eyes. "It doesn't matter," he dismisses, which is clearly a yes. "It was a small price to pay anyway; I expected a lot worse."

"Killing Barty was risky, Harry," the older wizard concurs, "I'd say _too risky."_

"He was getting in the way," Harry dismisses.

"I rather think you were peeved he signed Charlie up for that tournament."

"Considering I pulled his beating heart out of his chest," Harry voices darkly, "I'd say I was a lot more than _peeved."_

"What reason are we supposed to give the circles?"

Hailie materializes out of thin air, handing Harry his tea and a couple of crackers. Harry looks exhausted, but he musters a charming smile for the elf. She squeaks, flustered at the praise of all things, and disappears once more. Harry brings the teacup closer, taking a whisk of the smell before taking a sip. He sighs, content, before tensing up as he answers Regulus' previews questions.

"That no one touches Charlus Potter. Not even the Dark Lord, and certainly none of his dirty death eaters." He looks up where he's being lost in the ripples of darkened tea, eyes honest. "No offense."

"I'd be more concerned with hypocrisy," Regulus answers dryly, "but none taken."

"Or you can say I didn't like a young thing licking the Dark Lord's boots,"

"Am I really supposed to sell the idea that _you_ were jealous?"

"They think I'm crazy anyway," the teenager shrugs.

"A strategy I still struggle to respect."

"I didn't know you had respect for me at all," the comment seems to be more biting than intended, Harry having leaned out of his chair to stare Regulus down. Now, deflated, he rests against the white leather of the armchair. Too jaded for being only seventeen.

"You've had a rough week." The younger man offers a hum, it doesn't sound quite as agreement, but knowing Harry, it might as well be.

"Did you know?" he asks wistfully, "Lily Potter was rescued from the Lake this week partly due to _my _help?" _Ah, that would definitely do it._ "I've never felt so dirty." Dark amusement grips Regulus' heart, once more in awe at Harry's ability to handle the situation he's continually evoking.

"Really? That's what does it?"

"Are you asking me about other occasions? Because last week, Uncle, after curfew, I found myself in the Dark Lord's study. Not-" his eyes narrow, "-that we were there long, Tom isn't as patient as he seems..."

"Merlin, Harry," Regulus cuts him off, experience already pushing down whatever mental imagery his nephew is willing to construe, "I take it back."

"You know..." Harry's smile is small and devious, but genuine. Regulus is always relieved when he is witness to it. It looks like hope to him, an unwhispered promise that they might genuinely make it to the other side of this. "You and Severus are so easy to tease."

"Are you still using his chimney?"

"Of course,"

"I thought you had a portkey."

"I do." Now the smile is all teeth. "Small pleasures, Uncle, small pleasures."

"I will now very politely move the subject to less harrowing topics."

"Agreed," the other concedes gracefully, "our first timeline is coming up."

"I think we're acting too soon."

Hadrian shakes his head.

"I am absolutely sure Tom can take him, and I want this war to end as soon as possible. It's consumed enough of Charlie's life as it is."

_What about your life? _Regulus doesn't ask.

"When then?"

"The last tournament," Harry tells him, "we just need to make sure that when Tom arrives, Dumbledore will be there to greet him."

* * *

**Until next time :)**


	8. Dynamics

Tom's hair isn't black. Not like Harry's, which is thick and unruly, coarse to the touch and devoid of light. Tom's hair is a dark brown, glossy almost, the color of Jacobean. Harry dislikes many things about his life, but one of them is not the feeling of the thin locks as his hand rakes through them. Tom hums lightly under the ministrations, pleased at the attention as always. He's writing letters on the desk, Harry leaning curiously over his shoulder as he distractedly eases them both down in play. Tom isn't the first man Harry was ever with, neither the second, and the other could be old-fashioned to a fault.

He'd been genuinely impressed - a momentous occurrence - by Harry's particular brand of intimacy, that's when this whole shenanigan really took off, and Harry was slowly allowed more room inside the Dark Lord's study. It's laughable that when it comes down to it, the most powerful Dark Lord of Britain is just a man. When Tom's innate desire for blood and violence intermingled with heat and sweat, the smell of sex was accompanied by moans of pain. It'd been too easy; the thought still brought an amused smile to Harry's face.

"I hardly think the finer point of our treaty with the giants is what you find amusing." Tom doesn't ask questions. He comments, makes his curiosity and desire for knowledge evident but ignorable. It's a trap; he expects Harry to answer, to provide for his most inane wish, so attuned to him that he doesn't even have to query. It hadn't been easy, reading the Dark Lord's mercurial moods at first, but years down the line, Harry's an expert.

"I just remembered something." Tom's hand stills in its flowing motion.

"Oh."

"I'm thinking about when we met," Harry elaborates. "I thought you were going to take me right then and there," he leans in, hot breath on a familiar ear, "mark me in front of the entire street." His fingers are a spider, tantalizing as they crawl over the shoulder and under the Dark Lord's robes. Tom's body - a mixture of magic and luck, the lovechild of blasphemy and a miracle - is taut under the flowing fabric, and Harry enjoys the way his nails trail down the dips of muscle. He takes a moment to tease the patch of skin where the last ab rests, and the growing begins, framed by two sharp hipbones and covered in fuzz. Tom is muscular if only by virtue of being thin, and underneath, he's all sharp angles and pale, unmarred skin. "I would've let you."

A shudder rolls through Tom, easy to miss if Harry hadn't been looking for it as he licks a strip from the neck up into the back of Tom's ears just as his hand finally grips the thick cock asking for attention. It's been more and more common for Tom to forego underwear through the years. He knows that it makes Harry hot, and today is no exception.

Tom had been waiting for it, for Harry, for the things Harry can do to him.

He hadn't planned this out, but the moment was too right to miss. He strokes Tom's length with experienced fingers in a familiar, slow, and meaningful like Tom preferred. He is a demanding lover, but more than hurried and desperate, he likes for Harry to take his time. (Tease him into it, though he'd never say so out loud. It's okay because Harry knows anyway.) When Tom lets out the tiniest sigh, clearly giving up on finishing his letter, Harry backs away and lets his own dressing fall to the floor. The heavy material makes nary a sound as it slides down the length of his body, but Harry has no doubt that Tom doesn't miss the sound or what it means.

He tiptoes from behind the chair, high on the anticipation. He's done this a hundred times, but it just does not get any less thrilling. Besides, Tom surprises him often enough, and the things they've done together have been as painful as they are gratifying. Harry knows what people think happens behind closed doors, but they don't have an idea. Maybe it's that - for a long time - pain was all that Harry knew, and now it doesn't feel right when it's missing from him. It leaves him feeling like something terrible is coming, like the respite is only lulling him into a false sense of normalcy. The quiet is unnerving when you're waiting for thunder. And when Harry lived with... well, he'd come to _hate _the days he was left alone. Whatever took time to prepare was sure to make Harry suffer. The thought sours the moment a little, will Harry ever...

"Hadrian," Tom's voice calls from behind his armrest. He hasn't moved from where Harry left him hard and aching to undress, and he won't. Tom doesn't chase pleasure; pleasure must seek _him. _And so, Harry leaves unwanted memories behind him and takes careful steps towards Tom. He circles around his chair, slowly lifting a leg over as his own aroused cock flashes by Tom's line of sight before Harry straddles him. He throws his head back as his arousal presses down against the Dark Lord's through the softness of his robes. It feels good, not mindblowing as it might look, but Tom likes the show. He gets off on Harry losing himself to the pain and the heat, enjoys the idea of subjugating such a proud creature to nothing but the thought of sex and pleasure. (Harry gets off on pushing as many of his buttons as he can.)

Harry doesn't - not really - there's a sliver inside him, an anxiety-riddled voice that never goes quiet. He's good at ignoring it though, he presses further into the chair, bent knees on either side of the Dark Lord's covered tighs. So close does he leans in to kiss him that his cock is trapped in between their stomachs.

Tom's lips are velvet soft under his, and he's quick to take control of the kiss, one hand coming up to pinch one of Harry's perked nipples, and the shudder that travels down his spine is real enough. Tom rolls the nub in between his fingers, just barely, and Harry can't focus as an experience tongue slides into his mouth. It is hot and nimble, pushing and pressing inside Harry in a way that conveys dirty, malicious intent. Tom kisses Harry like he knows every corner and crevice of him, like Harry's an old toy taken out for a ride, like he's well-known and worthless. He kisses him like he's got better things to do, but decided on this, and Harry should sink to his knees and kissed his robes. (He hasn't, and he will never.)

The utter need to always come out on top, to shred Harry's dignity shouldn't be such a turn-on for the younger man, but the disdain coupled with the petting slide into him like molten lava coalescing in his belly. He pushes his cock further into Tom, but the pressure of being in between them is barely enough for how hot Harry feels all over. Tom smirks into his mouth, suddenly pinching down hard on Harry's nipple, and Harry might whimper.

"You're always so eager, Harry," Tom murmurs, exchanging his mouth for the bare skin of his neck. Harry's back curves as his head falls back to give him further access. The way he's done it, he's barely comfortable, but that's part of the game. He bites down, hard enough that Harry feels the teeth sink into flesh. He yelps, instinctively moving away, but Tom keeps him in place with a warning hand on his prick. The sudden shock of stimulation is confusing. Harry's neck is throbbing, but Tom's hand on him squeezes him just shy of pain, and the rough feel of it as it barely moves on him is conditioned to make him complacent. (Harry's been through a lot when Tom's hand is on his dick.)

When they meet eyes again, Harry is frazzled at the blood staining the other's lips. There's a dark blush peeking out from under Tom's robes, and it's a spike of pure pleasure that wracks Harry. He's done this a hundred times, and Tom might get off on thinking that Harry's just a lucky glutton for pain that lives to be under his thumb. Harry finds the humiliation exciting, but what really does it for him, what keeps making him come back to be spanked and tortured over and over again, is how wrong Tom is about Harry. The day will come when Harry's plan comes through, and just the thought of its success makes him hard, drives him wild with desire. Tom thinks Harry's a slut just for him, but revenge, revenge is the master Harry follows.

Like every time, when Harry is clearly invested in their play, when his cock is up and straining, flushed in need, Tom takes a moment to rake his finger over Harry's figure. His eyes trail a well-worn path through his marked neck and swollen nipples, down tanned skin to his flushed prick before straying to a hipbone. There hides the root of Harry's troubled life. Tom's long fingers caress the Deathly Hollows symbol delicately like he has done every single time before.

"Mesmerizing," he mumbles.

"You know-" Harry takes a moment to still his heartbeat "-I don't appreciate you doing that." Red eyes mirror back to him, sitting on him like this, Harry's just at the same height as Tom's gaze. "Albus Dumbledore is the last thing I want to think about when I'm about to ride your cock." Once, the crass, blunt statement would've gotten a rise out of Tom, but the other is too used to Harry by now. His eyes shine with hidden interest. He knows some of what went down between Harry and Dumbledore, but not all. Harry knows better than to run out of secrets to share. The hands on his cock slicked, and Harry hisses at the sudden change in sensation. _Wandless magic, _Harry acknowledged distantly, _what a show-off. _

"I'd still dissolve you into a pitiful mess, no matter what memories you conjured." _Unlikely, _Harry thinks, but lets himself play along. Tom's hand on him, the hand of the most powerful wizard in Britain, does things to him and as the other sneaks into his ass, prodding at his entrance. A sharp keen escapes him. He was pent up today, why he started this whole thing, but first, he needs to get business out of the way. He clutches on to Tom's shoulders, pressing his forehead to him in a vaguely intimate gesture as he squeezes his eyes shut and purposely loses himself to the feeling of a finger sliding into his ass. He's loose, always is these days, but Tom's dick is merciless when it's inside him anyway.

"I don't want to think about him anymore, Tom," Harry whines, pushing back on the single-digit that refuses to move.

"Is that so," Tom voices, interest peaked. Just like Harry has learned all of Tom's cues, so has Tom knew Harry's. The younger teen bites his lips, ducking his head, embarrassed.

"No, it's just..." but his voice goes out. Tom's hand moves, and - when they're like this - it's never good news for Harry. The feel of a cockring is familiar, cool metal sending off sparks as it meets Harry's overheated skin. Tom's hand on him, warm and rough, ups its ante, and Harry cannot help the way his hips buckle to meet him even as a second finger finds it's way inside him. Tom's fingers are unfairly long too.

"What was that?" Tom demands, looking pleased and unruffled as he brings Harry to the edge. Again, he bites his lip and shakes his head. It comes faster than he intends, but the pressure under his skin is driving him a little crazy.

"I see." Tom's desk is cleared in one swift move, by magic or hand, Harry cannot tell. Too lost in the warmth and the friction and _sheer want _slamming into him. Harry's back screams as he's thrown onto the desk with a strength that promises a bruise and leaves him out of breath. Tom doesn't even slip out the fingers that have started scissoring his ass. "Do you wish to try that again, Hadrian?"

"No, T- My Lord, I-I just..." Harry writhes on the feeling, but it's not enough; he's stretched enough, barely needed it, and now he wants more.

"You just...?" Harry stays quiet, maybe because he cannot form the words around his lips. The hands touching him vanish, and he opens his eyes to see what's happening. Tom is looking down on him. He's pleased that Harry has once again failed to answer his question. Harry's hands glue themselves to the table, and he knows that whatever the Dark Lord has planned, it's going to _hurt. _His legs hang over the edge of the table, his knees equally bound, and he briefly notices that the Dark Lord's chair is tilted backward, probably thrown out as Tom stood to carry Harry. "It's okay, Hadrian," the Dark Lord shushes, "sometimes people need prompting before they can be honest." Dread and anticipation curl in equal measures inside Harry, his traitorous cock strains against the cockring unabashedly.

Tom reaches somewhere behind Harry's ear, and Harry barely processes the wax spoon before bright green, _boiling_ wax splatters onto his stomach. Harry _screams, _his back arches back so tightly Harry swears it's going to snap, and tears blur his vision. It's not only the heat; it's the way Harry can feel it eating through his skin to meet the muscles underneath, it's the smell of burning flesh, and it's how it _won't stop. _Harry kicks out a leg, losing awareness of where he is when there's a wet, warm mouth on his cock. It shouldn't feel right; it_ shouldn't. _But as the wax cools, the buzzing warmth under his skin remains, Harry slumps back onto the table exhausted and dizzy, and only the feel of a wet tongue keeps him awake. The pressure to orgasm, absolutely wrecked as Harry is, takes nothing to build, but it never takes over, no matter how much Harry wants to.

"M-my lord," he gasps, every twist sending agony down his spine as the flesh protests still under the care of the still-warm wax. It all blends to feed his need. "_Please."_

"What was it you were going to tell me, Hadrian?"

It takes Harry a moment, then two.

_Right. _

"Isn't it..." he begins, trying to catch his breath, "isn't it time, my Lord?" Ruby eyes narrow in interest. "You are more powerful, Tom," Harry meets his eyes, green echoing trust and adoration. It doesn't matter what he does to him; Harry's belonged to Tom for a long time. It's hard to focus amidst the arousal and the pain. "You want to make a move at the end of the tournament, I'm sure... I..." he lets his gaze fall, letting out a whimpering as Tom encourages him once more with a slick hand on his cock. It's almost too much, so on edge already and no release possible. Harry takes it home, half-lidded eyes finding red as he cries, tears slipping down the sides of his face as his hips rise up to meet the hands of the man who murdered his grandparents. Harry's shame knows no bounds. He looks pathetic, and he loves that; he loves what it does to Tom. The way his fingers tighten around Harry's slim hips, hard enough to leaves bruises to discover the next day. "I just want him _gone," _Tom's other hand squeezes at Harry's erection and the teen and jerks up. He's not sure when Tom disrobes himself, but then, his thick length slides into Harry without resistance. Harry's whole body tightens, pulling at the raw skin of his stomach, and he screams again, hoarse and desperate.

It's nothing like the pain of before; this is heated and pleasant and wild. Tom pounds into him as Harry gasps and moans, crying and bound, there's blood on his stomach - not a lot - but enough that it slides off him and stains the table. It's not the first time Harry bleeds on top of Tom's desk. (It won't be the last.)

"So you want me to get rid of Dumbledore? How spoilt, Hadrian." The spank is nothing compared to the burning, but the move is always so undignified. It makes Harry feel so childish. The only other people who spanked him were the Dursleys, and Harry has to bite down the laughter that bubbles up at the reminder of what happened to them.

"Tom, please, only you..." For a moment, Harry's not sure what he's asking for, Dumbledore's death or release. Their bodies are sweat-stained, and the room feels sweltering as it presses down around Harry from all sides, the world narrowing to the pinpoint of pleasure where Tom hits Harry the electric spot inside him. Harry's going to be hoarse tomorrow if he keeps screaming like this, choked and begging for more "_Hah,_ only you can do it. I can't-" Harry sobs "-no one else, and I can't... I can't keep _seeing him. _People still think, _hah, hah, hah, _still think you're afraid," the thrust into him is fierce, "you can... _show them, ah!" _Suddenly, the cockring is gone. The orgasm, holding on to the edge for a while now, hits Harry like a train. Harry's hips stutter forward, an involuntary movement egged on by the feeling of Tom coming inside him. He stays put, but Harry has not enough sense of self to say anything else. He's dead, mind completely blank. Tom comes to, stroking Harry lazily, fingers roaming over his cock and burned stomach, taking time to stain the fingers in his blood. It all sends tingles of oversensitivity and pain down to his toes, but Harry cannot possibly move, only squeeze his eyes shut.

"You're so useless after coming," Tom mutters, thrusting in mildly inside Harry, who cries as his prostate gets touched and touched again. "I bet you could go again; what would it take to take you going? More wax? Your scream was beautiful."

Harry whimpers but forces himself to nod anyway. Over and over, if Tom wants him again, Harry will gag for it if he has to. He doesn't. Instead, Tom pulls out of Harry without fanfare and says:

"I shall give it some consideration."

He leaves Harry shaking and cold right there on the table, still bound.

It shouldn't feel like a win, but Harry has the feeling it is.

* * *

**Writing this story is always like "vague idea frenetical writing existential crisis bc wtf did i just write stressing about people hating it posting anyway."**

**Welp, there's no flashabck today bc wtf this is 3k of porn? emotional abuse? who knows really.**

**what did u think of tom and harry?**

**ly & take care, **

**dee**


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